


Running With The Wolves

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Scis & Spies [16]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Polyamory, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Jemma and her father move to a new town. In the last few years they have moved six times. Jemma can feel that her father is hiding a secret from her. She wants to know, but nothing could have prepared her for the truth: Her family has been hunting werewolves for centuries. Not all werewolves are monsters though, Jemma finds out, when she meets an actual - handsome, shy and smart - werewolf at her new high school. (Or: A Scis & Spies Werewolf AU inspired by the Tv Show Teen Wolf)
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse/Jemma Simmons
Series: Scis & Spies [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525661
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	1. The New Girl

_There's blood on your lies_  
_Disguise opened wide_  
_There is nowhere for you to hide_  
_The hunter's moon is shining_

(Running With The Wolves Tonight by AURORA)

* * *

  
Nighttime. The forest lays dark and still. Between the tall skeletons of old fir trees gleam dancing fireflies. The creatures of the night move in their usual secretive silence. An owl watches out for mice flitting carelessly over the soft moss. A small group of deer are grazing calmly on an embankment bathed in moonlight. A young gangling fox carries its prey home proudly, its footsteps causing the barest whispering of leaves. Somewhere, a lonely bird calls out one last time before falling asleep. This night is as quiet and peaceful as any other. 

But all of a sudden, the peace and silence are broken apart. The forest frightens and comes alive. Branches crack and leaves rustle as a shadow hurries through the undergrowth, breathing heavily. Birds startle up from their beds, calling out. The deer perk up all at once and turn around to flee, making the ground thunder. 

The creature running through the forest is neither human nor animal, though it has the shape of a boy. It runs faster than the deer and it jumps over fallen dead trees faster and higher than the fox. The creature’s golden eyes are gleaming in the darkness like the fireflies. They are wide open and filled with fear. It stops to catch its breath and flinches when an arrow with a silver head pierces into a tree right beside the creature’s head. It turns around and growls, baring white fangs. 

The hunters are closing in. It can already smell them. The combination of human sweat, leather, gunpowder and - of course - silver and mountain ash. 

There’s no time to rest. Not anymore. 

The creature continues running and the forest’s heart is pulsing alongside its own. 

[Jemma]

It’s a mild Monday morning in early September. 

Jemma leans her face against the cool window pane of the car and sighs heavily, when she sees only strange buildings passing by outside. She’s on her way to school with her father who is drumming a restless beat on the steering wheel with his fingertips while they have to stop at another red light. 

Jemma feels heavy with thoughts and emotions. They are familiar. As is the situation she’s in. New city, new school. It’s not the first time and Jemma has a feeling it won’t be the last. 

In the last few years she and her father have moved six times and changed the country twice in the process. Christopher Simmons works independently and every time they have to pack their bags, he tells her he’s sorry but that there’s no other way. Jemma has a feeling he is never telling her the whole story. She’s not blind. She sees the way he looks at the bags with both regret and fear in his eyes. She knows some of the bags contain a huge amount of weapons she’s never supposed to see. Or touch. 

It’s all very strange and often enough, Jemma wishes her mum would still be alive. She loves her father, but she hates the heavy atmosphere of secretiveness sometimes forming between them. 

Jemma’s torn from her thoughts, when her father stops the car. “This is it,” he says, clearing his throat. Jemma looks outside at a huge building consisting of red bricks and sighs. _There we go again_ , she thinks, looking after some laughing teenagers tiredly. New school. New people. New questions. 

“You’re alright?” Christopher asks and Jemma looks at him. Her heart sinks. He looks so worried and guilty. But at the same time, there’s hope in his storm grey eyes that are surrounded by so many deep sorrow wrinkles already. Jemma bites her lip. She doesn’t want him to worry. She forces a small smile on her face. “Yes. It’s fine, Dad.”

He sighs. “I know it’s tough, bumblebee. I know you’re tired of moving. I’m too. This was the last time. I promise.”

Jemma thinks he shouldn’t hold promises he’s not absolutely sure he can keep. She’s sure he can’t. And he should just tell her why they even had to move this time. It was … different. Everything felt so rushed. There wasn’t even time to tell the little friends she had in the last town. 

“You should go,” Christopher says, glancing at the clock. “Lesson starts soon. I’ll pick you up later, bumblebee.”

“Okay.” Jemma opens the car door. She hesitates, then leans over to hug her father briefly but firm. “Love you,” she says, and exits, throwing her bag over her shoulder. She catches the look of surprise and happiness on his face before she turns to go towards the school entrance, together with countless other teenagers. 

* * *

Jemma walks through hallways plastered with people she doesn’t know. She hears laughter around her and sees smiling faces turning away from her and she can’t help but checking her clothes for any stains she maybe didn’t notice when she got dressed. Jemma also can’t make the quiet whispering voice in the back of her mind shut up. It tells her, _They won’t like you. They won’t. And the others back where you used to live … They probably don’t even miss you. In no time, they won’t even remember you. Because you are not like them and they know. They only spent time with you and your strange interests out of pity._

Jemma’s been carrying the quiet voice around with her since her childhood. It’s a voice of doubt and insecurity. A part of her wants to be perfect all the time. Another part of her is certain she won’t ever be good enough. They hold an endless competition inside her. Sometimes, she can win and tell herself she’s good enough, that she doesn’t have to be perfect all the time. Today, she can’t win. She can only try to make the voice a bit quieter. 

Jemma swallows heavily when she finally arrives at the door of her classroom. Her heart is pounding. She checks the number twice. It’s the right one. She takes a last deep breath and pushes the door open. The classroom is buzzing. Pupils are chattering about the holidays. They are showing each other pictures on their phones and laugh. No one noticed the new girl yet. Well. They will. 

Jemma clutches her bag to her chest and looks around for a place to sit. Preferably in the first row. But every table there is already taken. There’s only one chair free in the crowded room. It’s in the last row, beside a lanky boy with tousled curls. He’s rummaging around in his bag, so she can’t see his face. 

Jemma swallows and goes past the other pupils, towards the table in the back, forcing a small smile on her face. She hopes it doesn’t look like a grimace. By now, some of the other students noticed her and are whispering to each other. Jemma tries her best not to fumble with her clothes or her hair, resists the urge to pull her phone out, to check if there’s something in her face or her teeth. 

It feels like she needs ages to cross the room. When she finally stands in front of the table, she clears her throat and asks, “Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” 

The boy perks up with a surprised noise and looks at her. Jemma’s breath hitches. He has the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. They are like the sky outside. Only a bit darker. “Uh,” the boy makes and his pale skin blushes quickly. “No,” he says. Jemma’s eyes flick to the pencil case laying on the supposedly free side of the table and the boy quickly takes it, pulling it towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Thank you,” Jemma says. She sits down and pulls her things out, laying them on the table neatly. “I’m Jemma,” she says when she’s done, straightening up and offering her hand to the boy. “Jemma Simmons. I’m new,” she adds, probably unnecessarily. 

The boy looks from her hand to her face and back. He blushes even more. But he takes her hand and squeezes it softly. His skin is … really warm. It’s hot, actually. Maybe Jemma’s hands are just really cold, she thinks with a hint of well-familiar anxiety. “Fitz,” the boy murmurs. “I’m Fitz.” 

Jemma frowns. Fitz isn’t really a name. Maybe a nickname? Well. It’s his name after all, so she’s not going to question it. “Hi, Fitz,” she says and sees the barest hint of a smile on his pale face. They let go and pull their hands back. There’s a moment of awkward silence, until Fitz clears his throat and looks away, reaching for his notepad to scribble something on it. 

_That didn’t go so bad_ , Jemma thinks relieved. At least she already talked to someone. Shook someone’s hand. She had worse first schooldays. _It isn’t over_ , the voice inside her head warns. 

To distract herself from the curious glances going into her direction now, Jemma occupies herself with acting like she’s drawing into her notebook while actually watching Fitz from the corners of her eyes. He’s handsome, she finds. From his blue eyes, to his freckles and long fingers. But his clothes have clearly seen better days. They have a few small holes and seem too wide for his skinny body. Actually, all his things look old. The zipper of his bag is broken. 

When the teacher comes in, Jemma has to say the inevitable few words about herself. She focuses on a point above the blackboard, to not have to look into all these strange eyes staring at her. She sinks into her chair with a relieved sigh when it’s finally over, and everyone focuses on the teacher. Well, almost everyone. A tall girl with long blond hair and cat like eyes surrounded by dark mascara keeps looking at Jemma for a little while longer. She doesn’t look unfriendly, but her gaze still makes Jemma uncomfortable, and she’s glad when the other girl finally turns forward to the blackboard again. 

The time passes too slowly. Jemma hates first schooldays not only because she’s usually the new girl, but also because there’s so little happening. It’s too much about organization and regulating timetables. No new things to learn, no information she can process properly. She keeps on looking at the clock hanging above the door impatiently, absently chewing on her lip and tapping the end of her pencil against her chin. 

Finally, the bell rings and everyone jumps up, starting to chatter while the teacher still tries to yell about homework. Jemma packs her bag with a relieved sigh. Fitz is already gone when she looks up again and she feels a little disappointed. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to on the first day. He seems to be nice. A little shy and withdrawn maybe, but nice. She notices he left a strange scent behind. Clean and earthy. It reminds her of a forest.  
  


* * *

Jemma’s father seems busy this evening. He is phoning in his office for hours and when Jemma wants to tell him goodnight, he waves at her distractedly, quickly closing the door in front of Jemma’s nose. The last thing Jemma catches a glimpse of, is a rifle laying on the table in the middle of the room. She frowns and blinks at the closed door, before exhaling a tired sigh and going to the bathroom. 

She looks at herself while brushing her teeth and sees there’s some anger lingering in her eyes. She knows her father is having secrets. She can’t help feeling like it’s not a … a normal secret. Nothing like, “Hey, bumblebee. I’m dating someone. I hope you’ll like her. She’s not your mother. But she’s nice …”. Nothing like “I’m actually in witness protection program. That’s why we had to move here.” And certainly nothing like “I’m actually selling weapons to not so nice people.” That’s not her dad. No. 

But there is _something_. And Jemma has the feeling, she’s less and less okay with accepting there’s something he doesn’t want to tell her. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not stupid. Or blind. 

When Jemma walks to her new bedroom, she can still hear him whisper behind the door. For a moment, she considers eavesdropping - but that isn’t her. The mere thought makes her feel horrified and guilty. Following rules is making her feel good. And eavesdropping at her father’s door would definitely be against the rules.

Jemma goes into her room, closes the door softly behind her and looks around. There are still a few things missing, still waiting in boxes. But her old teddy Edison is sitting on the bed and Jemma’s lips twitch. Despite the anger and hurt, the sight of Edison makes her feel warm with love for her dad. She lays down and is relieved to have some familiarity around her. Her own bed. Her own pillow and blanket. Her teddy. A distant voice wants to tell her grown ups had no teddy bears, but Jemma is way too tired to listen to the spiteful part of herself right now. She closes her eyes and hugs Edison tight. 

Before falling asleep, Jemma plans to confront her father the next day. She wants the truth.  
  
She doesn't know that the truth is going to find her soon enough.


	2. Alpha and Beta

Fitz breathes in the forest. A spring shower has gone down on it not long ago and the air is filled with the musty scent of wet wood. The moss soaked up the rainwater. it feels soft and cool under Fitz’s paws. He lowers his head and sniffs, his ears twitching when he catches the anxious scent of a fleeing rabbit. The track is still fresh. 

A blackbird discovers the grey wolf and calls out a warning. Fitz raises his head and blinks, shaking the water out his fur. He wants to go back to the rabbit tracks, but suddenly, his nose catches the scent of another, unfamiliar wolf. Fitz growls deep in his throat, the fur at his neck bristling. 

He looks up and glances into the bushes, his golden eyes narrowing. A silent second passes, but then, leaves rustle and the other wolf steps out, standing still in front of Fitz.  
  
The strange wolf is huge and black as the night. It looks like someone cut out a wolf shaped piece of the reality. But its eyes glow red. They are the red eyes of an Alpha. 

Not _my_ Alpha, Fitz thinks, growling again and lowering his head, baring his sharp fangs. 

This wolf doesn’t belong here. It’s not _pack_. Fitz is more than ready to fight this strange Alpha that dared to invade his pack’s territory. But for some reason, he can’t move. It feels like his body is frozen. 

The black wolf stares at him and suddenly walks forward slowly. It bares its teeth and they form a devilish grin. 

Fitz still can’t move. Helplessly, he watches the black wolf coming closer. Closer. 

_Closer …_

[Fitz]

Fitz awakes with a startled gasp. He’s sitting in bed upright, staring into the void. His heart is pounding. He’s been having this dream for a while now. But the huge black wolf never came so close before. He never could hear its heavy breath and … that strange noise, that sounded like laughter. Fitz shivers. It’s a strange dream. He’s always a wolf in it. He never is in real life. Only a very small amount of werewolves manage to shift into an actual wolf. Fitz is barely even able to control his claws yet. Sometimes they come out in the most inconvenient situations … 

Fitz sighs and wipes his face, yawning. He throws a glance at his watch and groans. He only has ten minutes left until the alarm goes off. It’s not enough to try falling asleep again. 

Hunter is snoring beside him. He’s hogging the blankets like usually, but Fitz doesn’t really mind. Ever since he’s a werewolf, he feels like he’s glowing from the inside. He swings his legs out of bed, the springs creaking softly. 

Hunter grunts and rolls around on his side, his eyes fluttering open. “Where are you going,” he murmurs sleepily, his hand reaching for Fitz. “Warm. Stay here.”

Fitz chuckles and reaches for his socks. He would love to stay in bed, but … “It’s Tuesday, Hunter. Didn’t you forget something?”

Hunter groans and grimaces. “School! Ugh.”

Yes. The holidays are over. Fitz has been nervous about going to school again. His mind sent him horrible pictures of students torn apart by his claws and fangs. But Hunter told him he was good enough at controlling himself now. After the first full moon, everything was more bearable. Fitz’s senses aren’t screaming in pain anymore when he hears a loud noise or smells something intense. 

But oh, he remembers the first full moon all too well. His blood boiling, his vision turning red and an endless unbearable hunger torturing him. It hurt. Hunter had to chain him to a pole. Fitz was snapping at him, was trying to rip Hunter apart. He felt so much rage. And everything inside him was screaming KILL. 

It got better, when he did, what Hunter had told him. 

“How do you control it?” Fitz had asked Hunter one evening before full moon. 

“You find an anchor,” Hunter had explained. “Something strong, that can pull you away from the urge to give in to the wolf’s aggression.”

“What’s yours?” 

A shadow had flicked over Hunter’s face. “Rage,” he’d said simply. He hadn’t added more, but Fitz understood. 

Hunter’s whole family died in a fire many years ago. There was nothing left of the house but black charred wood. Officially, the fire was said to be an accident. But Hunter said it was arson. Someone wanted Hunter’s family to be gone. Maybe, because they all were werewolves. Hunter doesn’t talk about this a lot, and Fitz respecs it, just like Hunter respects, that Fitz doesn’t want to discuss his father. 

_His father …_

This whole werewolf thing only started because of him. Because of Alistair Fitz. Because of this drunk raising his kid alone because his wife died years ago, in a car crash. On good days he only insulted Fitz, calling him pathetic, a disappointment and made him do all of the housework. On bad days, Alistair took his belt and taught his son “a well-deserved lesson”. 

It was Lance Hunter, an older boy Fitz sometimes saw in the school hallway, who found Fitz when he was sitting on a bench in the park, hugging his knees and crying, only wearing a thin shirt and jeans. Hunter had asked him if he was alright. Hunter had sat beside Fitz, offering his jacket. The night was cold. Hunter had touched the bruise forming on Fitz’s arm, frowning. “You should report it,” he said. 

Fitz shook his head. “Wouldn’t change anything,” he murmured. “I just … I wished I could go somewhere else. I don’t want to go back.” He felt bad for saying this out loud. Pathetic and weak … He sniffed, wiping his wet face with his arm. 

Hunter looked at him for a long moment and finally said, “You could come with me.”

Fitz stared at Hunter in surprise. “What?”

Hunter hesitated, biting his lip. Suddenly, he seemed nervous. But finally, he said, “If there was a way, that would change you. Change your life. Would you choose follow such a path? Because, I could give that to you … I’ve been watching you for a while, you know. And … I want to. I even feel I have to.” He chuckled nervously. 

Fitz shook his head slowly. “I … I don’t understand,” he said carefully. 

The next moment, Hunter’s eyes flashed a bright intense red and Fitz’s breath hitched.  
  


Hunter told him about werewolves then. To his own surprise, Fitz wasn’t as confused and terrified as he probably should have been. Instead, he was amazed. He asked Hunter to show him everything. His eyes, his fangs and his claws. 

“Can I think about it?” 

Hunter smiled. It made his eyes sparkle. He looked good, Fitz noticed not for the first time. “As long as you want to,” Hunter told him, smiling softly.   
  


It wasn’t long. 

Fitz couldn't stop thinking about Hunter. Couldn't stop to think about his red eyes, his voice and quiet soft touches. He felt like something was pushing him towards Hunter. But he still hesitated. First, he had to process the ... the whole supernatural-creatures-existed thing.  
  
But he didn't need long to know what he wanted ...

Two days later, Alistair threw a glass at Fitz and one of the shards pierced into the skin of Fitz’s cheek. He pulled it out and stared at it. He stared at the blood on the glass and realized, he couldn’t do this anymore. He was tired of this life. He was tired of everything. So he got up and left. He didn’t listen to the yells following him. He just walked on through the rain. 

When Fitz knocked at the door of Hunter’s apartment, Hunter opened, his eyes widening in surprise. 

Fitz cleared his throat. His heart was pounding. But when he spoke, his voice was firm. “I want it. The bite. I want the bite. And … I want you.”

Hunter’s breath hitched. “Thank God,” he murmured and pulled Fitz into his apartment, pressing their lips together. They stumbled into the room, already ripping each other’s clothes off. Fitz moaned when Hunter licked his neck. He fell on a bed and Hunter followed, his eyes wide open and hungry. Fitz reached for him. 

It was strange. Fitz barely knew Hunter yet, but he felt drawn towards him. It was a dull ache inside his chest. 

Hunter’s fangs sank into his wrist and it hurt, but only for a moment. After a while, Fitz only felt a dull warm pulsing. 

“How long?” He asked breathlessly. “How long, until …”

Hunter shrugged. “There’s no way to tell. Sometimes, it’s a matter of minutes. Sometimes, it takes hours.”

Fitz nodded and laid back. He closed his eyes, waiting. The clock was ticking. It was the only noise beside their combined breaths now. But eventually, Hunter cleared his throat. “Fitz?”

“Hmmm?”

“I … I should have told you something.”

“What?”

“The bite … It doesn’t turn everyone into a werewolf. Sometimes, when the body is too weak or fights the bite, people die …” Hunter’s eyes were filled with shock and desperation. “I shouldn’t have done this,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Fitz shook his head and reached for Hunter’s arm, drawing a circle on it. “I’m not. I’m not going to die. I feel it.”

Hunter blinked in confusion. “How can you be so sure?”

Fitz shook his head. He didn’t know. But when the night was over, he was still alive and he could hear and smell everything at once. He frowned, when he noticed that the bedsheets were torn into shreds around him. Fitz raised his hand and his breath hitched when he saw long claws instead of fingernails. “Hunter?” He asked, his voice shaky. Hunter looked at him with sleepy eyes, but they sharpened immediately, when Hunter saw Fitz’s eyes glowing in Beta yellow. Hunter grinned. 

That was how it started.

Since he didn’t have anywhere else to go, Fitz stayed with Hunter, who taught him everything a werewolf had to know. And when Fitz managed to calm down at his first full moon, his vision clearing and his fangs disappearing, when Hunter asked, “You found an anchor. What’s your anchor?”, Fitz answered, “You.” Hunter breathed his name and kissed him and Fitz’s senses screamed Alpha, every cell of his body yearning for his Alpha’s touch, love and comfort. 

Hunter is pack. Hunter is love. Hunter is safety. 

Fitz knows they are a way too small pack. Normally, there’s not only an Alpha and a Beta. There should be more. But something inside him feels reluctant at the thought of sharing Hunter. And Hunter doesn’t seem to be eager to choose anyone else for the bite. So they are two. And Fitz thinks it will stay this way. Everything’s perfect. Why should they change things. 

Fitz is torn out of his thoughts, when Hunter hugs him from behind, burying his nose in Fitz’s hair and inhaling. “Mine,” Hunter growls and Fitz shudders happily at the vibration on his skin. He hums and turns his head to give Hunter better access to his neck, his eyes flashing yellow, when Hunter’s teeth nibble at the skin there carefully. His senses are screaming _Alpha_ , but his heart screams _Hunter_. 

Hunter’s hand glides over his thigh suggestively, but Fitz shakes his head and stops it, grabbing Hunter’s wrist. “School, Hunter.”

Hunter growls. “I could pin you to the bed. Make love to you for hours.”

“After school, lazywolf,” Fitz chuckles. Hunter’s words cause the arousal to burn warm and low inside him, but the clock is ticking and they are about to be late. 

Hunter sighs. He knows when he lost a battle. “Fine. School,” he grumbles. “Because I love it so much when we are in separate classrooms the whole day.”

Fitz kisses the tip of Hunter’s nose. “I know. Only a few hours.” 

“Even only a few hours are torture,” Hunter tells him. But he finally gets up, stretching and yawning. He disappears into the bathroom and Fitz admires the sight of Hunter’s bum as long as he can. Then he goes to pack his bag. 

* * *

They drive to the school in Hunter’s old car. When Fitz gets out, he takes care to filter what he hears. In the beginning, it was overwhelming. He heard everything at once. But it’s pretty easy to focus on one thing and drown the others out now. Smells are a bit harder to handle and he grimaces, when someone passes by, holding a sandwich which stinky cheese on it. Ugh. 

Suddenly, he sees the new girl from yesterday. Jemma. Jemma Simmons. She gets out of a car and says goodbye to a man in it. Fitz guesses that’s her father. He watches Jemma approaching the school’s entrance. She strokes her hair back and smiles, but he senses she’s anxious, like she was yesterday. Anxious. Nervous. A bit hopeful. Does she hope to make friends? 

“Who’s that?” Hunter asks, following his eyes. 

“Jemma Simmons,” Fitz says. “She’s new. She’s sitting beside me, she …”

“Simmons?” Hunter barks, and a group of students look over to them, frowning. “Did you just say Simmons?” 

Fitz nods confused. “Yeah. Jemma Simmons. What’s wrong?” 

Hunter frowns. He follows Jemma disappearing inside the building with his eyes and they narrow. “Means we have a problem, love.”

“I don’t understand,” Fitz says. 

“The Simmons are an old family. Every werewolf knows them,” Hunter says, gritting his teeth. He definitely looks hostile now, and Fitz’s heart sinks. “Why?” He asks nervously. 

Hunter scowls. His hands clench into tight fists. “Because they have been hunting werewolves for centuries. But that’s not the only problem.” He looks at Fitz, his eyes wide and now filled with a distant kind of sharp pain. “I'm sure it was someone of the Simmons family who burned my family’s house down, Fitz.” 


End file.
